


I can hear it in your sighs, I can feel it in your lines

by makesometime



Series: Restorer!AU [2]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art Restoration, Aromantic Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming), Body Appreciation, Canon-Typical Undressed Zolf Smith, HOT ZOLF RIGHTS, M/M, Sex-Favorable Zolf Smith, body painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 12:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30106140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: He doesn’t know what he worried about, all those months ago. Somehow thinking that Zolf would disappear the moment the varnish was dry on his painting.What’s followed have been some of the most fulfilling weeks of his life. He’s been able to be his unabashed, honest self as he revels in the first flush of a new relationship with a person who cherishes him, who he’s starting to suspect might love him as well.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: Restorer!AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215269
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	I can hear it in your sighs, I can feel it in your lines

**Author's Note:**

> I got a sudden urge to continue this universe this week, since I had such a wonderful time writing it for AroAceing the Line. This one turns up the spice a little bit but everything else is the same.
> 
> All of my restoration knowledge is shamelessly cribbed from Baumgartner Restoration videos <3

He doesn’t know what he worried about, all those months ago. Somehow thinking that Zolf would disappear the moment the varnish was dry on his painting.

What’s followed have been some of the most fulfilling weeks of his life. He’s been able to be his unabashed, honest self as he revels in the first flush of a new relationship with a person who cherishes him, who he’s starting to suspect might love him as well. Maybe one day he’ll ask. Ask what it feels like to Zolf. How Zolf knows.

Maybe.

Having Zolf around means he has things to look forward to that aren’t work, has things that make him smile as he’s unlocking the studio in the morning, knowing that Zolf is doing the same a few streets away.

Things like getting kisses on a regular basis ( _his favourite)_. Having someone to hold in bed. Having someone to cook for him and bring him meals on their lunch breaks.

And things like having someone to irritate the fuck out of him with questions while he’s trying to focus.

“Zolf.”

He _feels_ Zolf’s smirk more than he sees it, focussed as he is on the canvas in front of him. He can’t get the light right on this damn section, every time he adds a little more colour the sun goes behind a cloud and he realises he’s been doing it wrong.

“M’just curious.”

“Can you be curious _elsewhere_.” He snipes back, then pauses. He exhales slow, using the techniques he learnt to keep his hands steady. Sitting back, he lays down his brush and turns his stool to face Zolf. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know, love.” Zolf says, reaching forward and taking his hands. “Chose my moment poorly. Shoulda seen that you’re struggling.”

“I am _not_ —.” Oscar bites off the dismissal, too used to pretending to himself that nothing’s wrong. He sighs, looking down at the juxtaposition of Zolf’s hands against his; tanned, scarred, covered in faded tattoos twined with his long, pale and paint-flecked ones. “I think it’d be advisable to leave this for today. Sometimes it’s better to admit you’re beaten.”

Zolf smiles, soft and warm in that way Oscar so likes. “I’m proud of you for admitting it. Know it’s not easy.”

Oscar’s about to pout and push at him when Zolf leans in, and suddenly a kiss seems like a much nicer alternative. He hums around the warm lick of Zolf’s tongue into his mouth, shivering as Zolf sidles a bit closer. It’s easy to link his legs around Zolf’s body and give over to it completely, purring when hands tug sweetly at his hair.

Zolf pulls back with a gasp and a bitten-off groan, looking at him with flushed cheeks and heated eyes and suddenly Oscar wants to be _devoured_ …

“Are you busy tonight?” Zolf asks, and really it’s such a masterful display of saying one thing and meaning another that Oscar grins widely.

“No. Not if you aren’t.”

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of heat and desperation, of grasping hands and skin on skin and the feel of his body getting everything it’s wanted for weeks. Zolf is an attentive lover, but harsh and rough when Oscar asks for it and he senses they have a great deal of fun ahead of them from the way Zolf shudders so nicely at the filth that he allows to trip from his lips.

After, sweaty and sated, he lays his head on Zolf’s chest and traces his fingers over the tattoos that cover most of the skin he can touch. They’re gorgeous, intricate and bold in equal measure, some hints of colour but mostly blackwork, like the one that Oscar has swirling over his shoulder and up the back of his neck.

His head swims with imagined colour as he slides his hand down Zolf’s thigh, down to where the tattoo ends just above the skin that he knows can get irritated by the prosthetic. It’s a series of roots that grow into a tree that bursts into foliage that he can imagine the perfect green for, and he trails his fingers over it, thinking of light and shadow as he gathers sweat and lube on his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?”

Oscar chews his lip, then glances up. “You’re a perfect canvas.”

“Ah, what?”

“All of this.” Oscar continues, slowly passing his hands over Zolf’s skin. “My head is swimming with thoughts of painting you. _On_ you. Filling these lines with colour.”

He senses the way Zolf works through his unease, watches a flicker of fear that makes Oscar think maybe he’s expecting it to be a _joke_ of all things, before his smile settles back, nervous, but intrigued.

“Right. ‘Spose that’d be alright.”

Oscar laughs, turning his face more firmly into Zolf’s belly. “Only if you want. When you want. You only have to let me know.”

Zolf nods, half-contorting himself to press a kiss to Oscar’s forehead. They lounge for a few minutes more before Oscar starts to feel uncomfortably sticky and pulls on Zolf’s hand, getting slowly to his feet.

“Come on. This flat’s got a lovely bath. Be a shame not to share it.”

#

He’s in the middle of laying out his workspace for his next piece, smiling as he squeezes the tubes of paint into satisfying little dollops on a brand new palette, when Zolf leans in over his shoulder.

“Are you gonna use these on me?”

“These? My fully-reversible oil-free retouching paints?” Oscar grins, turning his head to press a kiss to Zolf’s cheek. “You’re special, darling, but you’re not _that_ special.”

“Rude.” Zolf returns, but he’s smiling broadly.

“I have some lovely watercolours, which will be perfectly safe if we clean you off after.” Oscar says. “I’ve been saving them for my own projects but I barely have time anymore. This seems like the perfect use for them instead.”

Zolf’s lovely when he blushes, and Oscar feels a warmth settle in his chest that lingers throughout the rest of the afternoon, all through the quiet conversation and questions from Zolf. It inspires him in a way that he’s not felt for some time, and by the time he sits back and cracks his spine, he’s more than satisfied with his work.

“Looks lovely.”

Oscar smiles, glancing quickly over the painting. It doesn’t look lovely at all, patchy and unfinished while he waits for this paint layer to dry.

“It doesn’t.” He says quietly, looking slyly at Zolf. “But _you_ will.”

Zolf snaps his mouth closed and swallows so strongly that his beard bobs, and for a moment Oscar wonders if he’s gone too far. Then Zolf reaches out a hand, palm up and fingers curled in invitation.

“Come on then.”

He walks out of the studio that evening hand-in-hand with Zolf, with a set of watercolours tucked under his arm in a lovely wooden carrying case. They walk through the late summer streets and enjoy the secret that they each possess about their intentions for the evening, even as they stop in at a little Italian place for a bite to eat on the way home.

He’s not sure if Zolf actually wants them to go ahead with it that evening, so he sets the watercolours aside when they get in, happy to leave them there until otherwise informed.

He’s lost in enjoying the flavour of his rosé when Zolf gets up to go to the bathroom, and nearly chokes on it when Zolf comes back entirely nude and wearing a quietly pleased smirk.

“Well?” Zolf says, and Oscar scrabbles to his feet, nearly upending the rest of the bottle in his rush to fetch the paints.

It only takes a moment to set up the bed, a couple of old towels protecting his sheets and providing a nice soft place for Zolf to lay. By the time he’s laid out his palette and chosen his softest brushes, Zolf has reclined with an arm tucked behind his head and Oscar has to bite his lip to force down the urge to run his mouth over all that skin instead.

“Ready?” He asks

Zolf nods, and he begins.

Zolf is already a work of art, even if he doesn’t realise it.

His body carries so much of his story on the surface. Tattoos, scars, injuries. The life he led before Oscar met him is fascinating. Oscar’s never met someone who he so fiercely wants to protect now, to provide a comfortable, safe life for. Zolf would probably laugh, if he knew. Maybe he’ll tell him one day.

Oscar decides to start with the tattoo on his thigh, since he had such a clear image for its design. Zolf gasps at the first swipe of the brush, smiling and muttering ‘ _tickles’_ as Oscar continues to work colour over his skin. It’s not a perfect application, all of the lovely hair that dots his thigh catching on the paint, but Oscar can persevere when the result is making Zolf look like the masterpiece Oscar knows him to be.

He leaves the foliage to dry and moves onto the ship across Zolf’s belly, shading browns and creams across the hull and rigging and smiling a little smile to himself as his arm brushes Zolf’s stiffening cock. It’s a compliment, though one that he won’t point out unless Zolf expressly invites it.

It’s easy to lose track of time in the swipe and curl of his brush, the act of cleaning away one paint to catch up another, to blend and smooth colour within the lines of Zolf’s tattoos. At one point he has to get up to adjust the light, and when he turns back his breath catches at the sight of Zolf laid out, covered in his own artwork.

“You look incredible.” He murmurs, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat.

“S’all you.” Zolf replies, keeping so sweetly still even as Oscar rejoins him.

He continues to paint, over the anchor on his sternum and the waves across his heart, the knives on his inner bicep and the flames that lick up his forearm. By the time he’s satisfied it’s late into the night and he stretches his arms over his head with a stifled yawn.

Zolf glances down at himself and smiles, soft and impressed. “You made me look beautiful.”

“ _Darling_.” Oscar says quietly. “Darling, you already were.”

He kisses Zolf then, can’t stop himself from leaning in and stealing his partner’s mouth and pouring all of his emotion into the embrace. He keeps his body hovering above Zolf’s, not wanting to smudge the art, though the desire to fit himself along the length of Zolf’s warm skin is a temptation that is difficult to fight.

“May… May I take some photographs? Just for me?” He asks, sitting back and smiling at the slightly dazed look on Zolf’s face.

Zolf hesitates, then nods slowly. “Just for you.”

He fetches his digital camera, thinking that his phone is probably less appropriate, and snaps a couple of quick shots, then a few close-ups. It’s not exactly something he intends to do for others, but it’s nice to be able to document his technique in other mediums, and he smiles as he sets the camera aside.

“Don’t suppose I could interest you in a little… show of appreciation?”

Zolf grins, catching his lip with his teeth. “And ruin your hard work?”

Oscar prowls closer, kneeling beside Zolf and running the backs of his fingers up the thick curve of Zolf’s cock. “Mm, no. It would only enhance it, I think. And you’ve been very patient.”

“Yeah.” Zolf lifts a shoulder in an easy shrug. “Wasn’t about that though.”

“And it doesn’t have to be. There’s always next time.” He smiles when Zolf peers at him, confused. “Your back, darling.”

Zolf rolls his eyes and reaches down to guide Oscar’s hand to his cock, leaning in for a kiss that makes Oscar whimper and twist against his side.

“Guess you’re the expert here.” He murmurs against Oscar’s lips.

Oscar twists his wrist, breathing in the sharp exhale that Zolf gives. “Yes. I am.”


End file.
